


Known By Its Absence

by Sixthlight



Series: The Arranged Marriage AU [3]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, Falling In Love While Married, Family Drama, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Politics, cameos from Booker Andy and Quynh, comedy of manners, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sixthlight/pseuds/Sixthlight
Summary: Noor needs a Venetian husband; Nicolò needs to avoid his family; Yusuf needs (but can’t have) a drink.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Arranged Marriage AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936981
Comments: 122
Kudos: 1065





	Known By Its Absence

**Author's Note:**

> There is mention of historical violence towards children in this fic (in the context of military action, not child abuse/domestic violence).

“Yusuf,” Nicolò said the third day at sea, as they scudded westward along the African coast. “We may have a small problem.”

Nicolò, Yusuf had learned in the better part of a year of marriage, was the kind of person who never panicked. This was extremely helpful when somebody was trying to kill him, and somewhat less than helpful when he was trying to tell Yusuf about something that deserved an appropriate degree of panic. From Nicolò, “we have a small problem” was a dire phrase indeed.

“Pirates? A storm? Another one of your brothers?”

“No,” said Nicolò, and pulled forward one of the servants, a boy. He was very sallow; evidently the sea did not agree with him. “I found her throwing up over the side.”

Yusuf took a moment to process ‘her’, and then the boy said, very sulkily, “I do not see why you had to tell him,” and the world rearranged itself; he was not facing a serving boy, but his sister Noor.

“Are you _mad_?” Yusuf said to her.

She folded her arms. “You are going to find me a husband. I think it is perfectly reasonable that I should come with you –”

“Mother already told you no! And Father! And the wazir!”

“Yes, well, here I am now,” said Noor, with a wave of her hand as though all the detail in between that conversation and her presence now, on a ship bound for Marseille, was irrelevant. It was a gesture their mother used a lot when someone was arguing with her and she didn’t want them to.

“We will have to return to Tunis,” Yusuf said with a heavy sigh. “Likely we will be late for Sébastien’s wedding –”

“We can’t,” said Nicolò. “Or at least it will be very difficult, with the weather as it is, and we will not just be late, we will miss it altogether.” Yusuf forgot sometimes that Nicolò knew a great deal about the sea, and ships; his home city was a great port, as such things were measured along the northern coast, anyway.

“What a pity,” said Noor.

“We’re not even going to Venice right now,” Yusuf said, exercising extreme patience. “We’re going to Marseille, for Sébastien’s wedding, and then we are sailing to Pisa and traveling overland to Venice, and we will not be returning to Tunis for _months_.”

“It’s all right, brother,” said Noor. “I brought all of my knives.”

“How did you even get the idea to disguise yourself –” Yusuf sighed. “It was Andromache, wasn’t it.”

“She has all the best ideas.”

“I am starting to feel it is a great pity,” said Nicolò, “that I did not get to speak more than a few words with her, at your Great Feast. She is a very good friend of your mother’s, is she not?”

“She is, and likely she will visit again, and you can discover why my father is always on edge every time she visits,” said Yusuf. “Noor, what are we going to do with you?”

“You are going to let me stay in your retinue,” said Noor, “and I am going to come to Marseille, and then to Venice, and when you negotiate for a husband for me, I will tell you whether I like him or not.” Yusuf glanced at Nicolò, but he was hiding a smile behind the pretence of rubbing his beard thoughtfully; he wasn’t going to be any help.

“God willing,” said Yusuf, “I will find it in myself not to strangle you before this voyage is over.”

“God willing,” his sister agreed solemnly. Then she rushed to the rail and retched again.

*

Yusuf and Nicolò were on their way to Marseille with a small party, to celebrate Comte Sébastien’s marriage to his lady Adèle, and thence to Venice to negotiate a husband for Noor, if they could. It was going to be the first time that Yusuf had spent any real time in Christian lands; he had visited Sicily and al-Andalus, where there were plenty of Christians, but that was a very different thing. They could have gone to Genova, on the way. Yusuf’s father had asked, when they were planning, if Nicolò thought that would be useful, or if it was something he wished. Nicolò had considered this for a long minute, staring at the map of the Roman Sea and the Frankish lands north of it, and said no, no thank you, it would not be and he did not.

They did not travel alone, of course. Aside from the ship crew and a small number of guardsmen and the servants, there were either other members of the court traveling with them, including two married women. One of them was Yusuf’s aunt, his father’s sister who had married one of his mother’s cousins after his parents had married, and the other was married to another cousin. They were both of his mother’s age and trusted by her; of course, everybody traveling was, as this was an embassy of the kingdom. Yusuf wasted no time in presenting Noor to them and explaining the situation, which was that Noor would have to continue in her disguise and act as their servant. They took this remarkably in their stride.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to tell nobody?” Nicolò asked him.

“If we could reliably keep her hidden for the next _three months_ , yes,” said Yusuf. “But I am not taking that bet, and…” He shrugged. “You know how it is. If her prospective husband’s family get wind of this, they will use it against her, and us. This way – everybody can swear that she was with respectable women of her family, the whole time.”

“She is not going to be with respectable women of her family the _whole_ time.”

“It doesn’t have to be true, my heart. It just has to be believable.” Yusuf narrowed his eyes. “Why do you find that amusing?”

“It amuses me when you are your mother’s son,” said Nicolò. “Not that you are not, all the time. But some times more than others.” 

“Thank you,” said Yusuf. “I try.”

*

They had fair weather all the way, and sailed into Marseille at the same time as a party from Córdoba. It was one of the reasons Yusuf’s mother had agreed that it would be good for him and Nicolò to attend the wedding; there were some matters regarding trade with al-Andalus that might be better addressed, his mother said, in casual conversation between princes at a celebration, than if she had to send a formal embassy and make a fuss of it.

Yusuf had been aware, as she said this, that this mission was also something between a reward and a test. He had had his Great Feast and chosen a husband; eyes would be on him now as his mother’s successor, and it would be useful, as his father said, if he proved that he could move among his fellow princes. It would also be useful, his father had added, if any small rumours that might have been started by his husband’s family and their unfortunate attempt to ‘rescue’ Nicolò could be laid to rest.

Nicolò had looked grim and unhappy at that. “I don’t think they would want to talk about it.”

“No,” Yusuf’s father had said, giving him a very searching look, “but someone will have known your brother came here, and the whole court saw how that ended. Some people are always looking for excuses. Let us not give them any.”

“You mean the Normans in Sicily?” Yusuf had asked.

“Anybody, really,” said his mother. “Though they top the list. Anyway, go to Marseille, be happy for your friend, and be _seen_ to be happy. Then find me a good husband for Noor.” She eyed them critically. “Your inability to keep your hands off each other might actually be useful for once. No rumour about kidnapping is going to survive that.”

Nicolò and Yusuf had exchanged pained looks, and Yusuf had reflected that maybe it would not be such a hardship to be away from his mother’s court for a good long time.

Now they were sailing into Marseille on a following wind, and Yusuf was excited; he had never visited Sébastien’s city. They had been friends because Sébastien had been fostered in Tunis for some years when he and Yusuf had been boys (Yusuf’s mother having very firmly refused the idea of Yusuf fostering away from the kingdom, but being willing to engage with the Frankish custom so far as to accept Sébastien) and travelled back and forth several times since.

“How long since you were last here?” he asked Nicolò, who had mentioned that he had visited the city, but only ‘many years ago’.

“Ten years, maybe?” said Nicolò. “It was when the present Comte was still with you in Tunis. His father and my father were friends, I think, or at least allies. It is one of the things that persuaded my father to send me to your Great Feast at all, rather than ignoring the invitation – knowing that Comte Henri’s son had fostered with your family.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember very much of it, though. I was young, and mostly charged with filling cups and staying silent.”

“Why weren’t you fostered?” Yusuf asked, the thought having never occurred to him before, as it wasn’t their custom. “You said you were in Genova, until the monastery.”

“I am not only the youngest, I am _very_ much the youngest. My eldest brother has more than twenty years on me. So I squired for him, instead of someone in another court.” Nicolò looked momentarily wistful. “I have often wondered what it might have been like, if I had gone somewhere else.”

Another thought occurred to Yusuf. “Does that mean we might expect to see some of your family here?”

“It’s possible.”

“I shall think of it as an opportunity to get to know them on better terms,” Yusuf said, as lightly as he could.

Nicolò didn’t say anything to that, but he leaned against the railing, instead of holding himself straight. Good enough.

*

They were presented formally in court when they arrived, after a group who had arrived the same day from Aquitaine and before the group from Córdoba, but Sébastien ruined the whole effect by embracing Yusuf warmly.

“Yusuf! It is so good to see you again, and after only a year. And to meet your lord husband properly.”

“I am surprised you did not speak at the Great Feast,” said Yusuf.

“He was very quiet, and I was catching up with old friends,” said Sébastien. He had kind words for two of Yusuf’s companions, too, who were of an age with them and had been in Tunis at the same time as Sébastien.

“My lord of Marseille,” Nicolò greeted him. They were all speaking Latin, given the mixed company. Yusuf could understand Sébastien’s Provençal dialect, since they had spent so much time together as boys, but not speak it well. “It is a pleasure to meet you properly, as well. Can I ask if any of the rest of my family are here?”

“Yes, Godfrey arrived three days ago,” said Sébastien. “His eldest daughter is being betrothed to Adèle’s brother.”

“Giulia?” said Nicolò, looking surprised.

“You would know her name better than me,” Sébastien said amiably. His eyes flicked to the back of Yusuf’s party, and then back to Yusuf, very pointedly. “She’s the same age as Noor.”

“Is she?” Yusuf smiled and clapped Sébastien on the shoulder, and switched to Arabic. “Noor asked me to send her regards, as your foster sister. She is very excited to see what comes of our trip to Venice.”

“Some of the Doge’s family will be here too,” said Sébastien. “And I am glad to hear that Noor is well. In Tunis.”

“Exactly,” said Yusuf, still smiling, and looking at Sébastien, and not at his disguised sister.

Sebastien’s steward, or chancellor, or whatever they called it here, Yusuf forgot, was looking very pointedly at the embassy from Córdoba, who were still waiting their turn to be greeted; Sebastien embraced Yusuf one more time, and Nicolò too, and moved on. 

*

Nicolò had gone suspiciously quiet, even for Nicolò, once his brother’s presence in Marseille had been confirmed. Yusuf wanted to take him aside and ask him what to expect from Godfrey, but he didn’t get a chance. They were being shown to their quarters, and then there was a whole lot of additional fuss about making sure that they could all clean themselves for prayer when required, with water; they were the only Muslims staying in the castle itself and apparently Sébastien’s steward – that was the word – had not fully understood what was required. Then it was time for the evening’s banquet. Yusuf could not keep track of Noor in all this, and could only hope that their aunt and cousin were doing so.

They were seated at the high table with Sébastien and his family and Adèle’s family. Sébastien promised Yusuf that the food would all be clean, save the pork, of course, which was easy enough to avoid. One member of the lady Adèle’s family, down the far end from Yusuf and Nicolo, kept scowling at him; Yusuf wondered if perhaps he simply did not like Muslims. In that case he was doing poorly for his relative to be married to Sébastien of Marseille, who had extensive trading links with Tunis and al-Andalus, and even as far as the Fatimids in Cairo.

When the dancing began, the scowling man strode immediately over to Yusuf. He was tall, and dark-haired, and did not look like anybody Yusuf knew.

“So you are the Prince of Tunis,” he said, with no preamble. That was not precisely Yusuf’s title, but it was what most of the Frankish Christians understood, so it was not worth correcting.

“Yes,” said Yusuf. “And you –”

“What is it like there?” demanded the man. “One hears all sorts of stories.”

“Of course it is my home, and I prefer it to any other city in the world,” said Yusuf, “but if you will trust my description –”

He did his best to balance truth and what he knew it was wise to spread abroad; that Tunis was beautiful, and a hub of trade, and very peaceful, but of course always ready to defend its borders against intrusion. That they followed the Prophet, peace be upon him, but had no quarrel with other people of the Book, and that there were even churches in Tunis itself. That they were always glad to hear when the same was true in other lands. The man did not contribute much to this conversation, only grunting occasionally. It made for very hard work.

“But I am speaking overmuch of myself and my lands,” Yusuf said. “I have not even asked your name. You must forgive my rudeness.”

There was a long pause. Yusuf eyeballed the man, who was much of a height with him, and did not look away.

“Godfrey di Genova,” he said, reluctantly.

Yusuf smiled. “Why, then we are brothers.” He did not offer him a brotherly embrace, however; it did not seem like it would be well-received.

“So it would seem.” Godfery did not look pleased by this.

“Forgive me for not realising,” Yusuf went on. “You and Nicolò do not share much in looks.”

“We have different mothers.” Godfrey kept his words short. “Excuse me – I must speak with the Comte de Foix.” That was the lady Adèle’s father. He left without saying anything else.

Yusuf went immediately to find Nicolò, who was speaking with some of the party from Aquitaine, who appeared to be curious about what had truly happened to Duke Keane – of course, Normandy was their near neighbour. Nicolò was deflecting their questions without telling any untruths; he was very good at that. Yusuf could not easily remove him from the conversation, and did not get an opportunity to say anything at all about Godfrey until much later that night.

“I spoke with your brother today,” he said. “Or rather, he spoke with me. I did not realise at first; you do not look much alike.”

“Oh,” Nicolò said, not turning over. “Very well. I hope he was not insulting.”

“Not to speak of.” Yusuf waited, but Nicolò didn’t say anything else.

Yusuf chewed his lip. There was more to this, he could tell. It was his excellent intuition and sensitivity to his husband’s moods, and also his vivid memory of the time his husband’s family had tried to kidnap him back to Genova. As his father had always told him, you had to pay attention to the small details.

*

Noor, it transpired, was having the time of her life in Marseille; when Yusuf went to find her, she told him in great detail about all the errands she had run and the things she had seen and the strange new foods she had tried.

“You know the nightshade tubers from across the Western sea? There are some Jewish food-sellers who cut them up into strips and fry them with oil. They’re very good.”

“I am pleased you have time to run around the city trying new dishes,” Yusuf said. “I would have thought our aunt might have kept a tighter leash on you.”

Noor shrugged elaborately. “She said if I was kept confined to our rooms, it would be _very_ obvious that there was something strange about me, and I was just going to have to look after myself, and not do anything stupid.”

Yusuf took a moment to reflect that his aunt had of course been a confidante of their mother’s for many years, and had apparently adopted her somewhat pragmatic attitude to her children.

“Nicolò’s family are here too,” Noor added. “Well, his eldest brother, and his niece, and some of their retainers. I spoke to one of their servants. _He_ said that there has been a great amount of gossip in Genova about Nicolò, and that they are all very curious to see him here. They thought he would never be allowed to leave Tunis again.” She wrinkled her nose. “They don’t think very much of us, do they? I’m glad I don’t have to marry a Genovan after all.”

“You should not be gossiping. Unless it’s about the Venetians. I do not believe anybody has come from Venice to the wedding, which is a pity.”

“There are two Venetian ships in port,” Noor reported, “but they are just regular traders. I decided perhaps I would not go down to the docks and try to speak with them.”

“Oh, good,” Yusuf said faintly, contemplating all the possibilities of _that_. “I will tell you what you can do, though. I am speaking with the emissary from al-Andalus tomorrow about the tin and silver trade, while the Christians are all at the wedding mass. You may come along – most of our party will.”

“They come to our court all the time, that won’t be very interesting,” Noor complained, but she didn’t look displeased. “Will Nicolò be there?”

“No, he will attend the mass,” Yusuf told her. He wasn’t actually sure what Nicolò’s feelings were on the topic of religion these days. He was learning to read and write Arabic script using passages from the Quran, as one did, and Yusuf knew he had had a number of long philosophical conversations with Yusuf’s father, but every so often he attended Mass at one of the Christian churches in Tunis, and had even begun to learn a little of the Coptic language in which they conducted their services. Yusuf felt that his marriage was best served if he let Nicolò work those things out in his own time; and perhaps at the end of it nothing would change, after all. Yusuf had his own thoughts on the matter, but Nicolò had not asked him, so they remained private.

“Oh yes, of course,” Noor said; she did not appear to find that at all surprising. “Is there anything you want me to say, tomorrow? Or _not_ say?”

They discussed the meat of the matter for a little while, before their aunt requested that Noor go and sort out some matter regarding a proposed expedition the day after the wedding, for all the ladies who were gathered. Hawking, apparently.

“And is there going to be anything discussed there that I need to know about?” Yusuf asked, knowing full well that many things were discussed between women that could tip the balance of nations. His parents’ marriage, for instance.

“I’ll let you know if there is,” his aunt promised. “Your mother wants you to pay more attention to these things.”

“I am flattered by her trust,” Yusuf said.

*

Yusuf spent some very profitable hours with the party from Córdoba the next day, agreeing on matters of trade and complaining among themselves about the difficulties of travel, such as how very bad the soap was in Frankish lands. Nobody looked twice at Noor, in her role as a serving boy, and the Caliph of Córdoba’s son, who was of an age with Yusuf’s parents – the Caliph was elderly – talked with Yusuf about his son’s recent marriage to the King of Leon’s second son, and how it had improved their relationship with their northern neighbours. It would have made the whole trip worth it, for this morning’s work, Yusuf thought afterwards; there was something of a delicate balance between Córdoba and Tunis and Marrakech, with Tunis the smallest of the three Muslim kingdoms at the western end of the Roman Sea. His mother had been right about casual conversations, and they good they could do.

His good mood lasted until Nicolò came back from the wedding mass in what constituted, for Nicolò, something of a temper.

“What’s wrong?” Yusuf asked him.

“Nothing,” Nicolò said. It was a blatant lie. “It was good to hear Mass in Latin again. How were your trade talks?”

“Profitable, I think. We will dine with them tomorrow. The Caliph’s son was telling me all about his son’s recent marriage to a man from Leon. I think he is interested to speak with you, and understand how you are finding life in Tunis.”

“Fine,” Nicolò said, clearly paying very little attention. “Is there anywhere we are meant to be for the rest of the afternoon?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Good,” said Nicolò. “You should take me to bed and fuck me very slowly.”

“I like that you plan,” said Yusuf, partly because that had become something of a joke between them, and partly to give himself space to recover from that sudden declaration, “but we will probably be interrupted.” There was really not a lot of space in the castle, or the city, with so many noble visitors; the room Nicolò and Yusuf were staying in was, like the ‘solars’ Nicolò had described to him, doing double-duty as a room for meetings and audiences.

“Oh well,” said Nicolò, who had an astonishingly blasé attitude to this – Yusuf marvelled that he had ever wondered whether he might be shy – and set about winning Yusuf’s agreement with his hands and his mouth, instead of his words. Yusuf had fully intended to say no, or at least to negotiate down to sucking each other rough and quick in a corner, but somehow he ended up on the bed, fucking Nicolò deep and slow, on his hands and knees.

Nicolò wasn’t quiet, either, until Yusuf put a hand over his mouth, which somehow made it hotter for both of them; well, at least that was an interesting discovery. Someone walked in on them three separate times. The third time it was one of Yusuf’s cousins, and he was _never_ going to hear the end of it. But Nicolò looked as satisfied as Yusuf had ever seen him at the end of it, a match for that time they had spent a whole day together like this. Yusuf didn’t have the heart to complain about that.

*

He had hoped the stolen afternoon would improve Nicolò’s temper, but it stayed much the same for the rest of their time in Marseille; even Sébastien commented to Yusuf that Nicolò seemed to have something on his mind. He was very quiet, and even cold – not directly to Yusuf, or Noor, or any of their party so much, but just a general mood. He avoided his brother for the most part, and Yusuf did not try to force a meeting, although at one point he did see Nicolò speaking to his niece Giulia; he was transformed to his usual self, his easy smile the one Yusuf had come to know.

“Yusuf!” he said. “Yusuf, have you been introduced to Giulia yet? She will be Sebastien’s sister, you know, they are celebrating her betrothal to Lady Adèle’s brother before Godfrey leaves for Genova.”

“I had been told,” Yusuf said. “It is a pleasure, Lady Giulia. I am afraid I don’t know all the counties of Provence as well as I should. Where will you be living, once you are married?”

“Foix,” Giulia said. Her accent in Latin was even stronger than Nicolò’s, and she looked more like him than her father did – bloodlines were odd that way sometimes. “It is near Toulouse, but I expect we will come to Marseille often, and perhaps even to Genova, now and again.”

“That is well,” Yusuf said. “Your uncle gave up much to marry across the sea.” This was a polite fiction; he saw Nicolò quirk an eyebrow at him, outside of Giulia’s line of sight, but he did not contradict it.

“We all missed him very much, when he entered the monastery,” Giulia said. “I think we may see him more now than if he had stayed there.”

“Perhaps,” said Nicolò. “It has been very good to see you again.”

Giulia reached out and poked his beard, grinning. “I see you gave up shaving as soon as you left the monastery, too.”

“Not quite,” Yusuf said. “He arrived in Tunis with a bare face.” Actually Nicolò had only grown out his beard in the last month or two, after this trip had been organized; he began to wonder at that now.

“It is very much the fashion there,” Nicolò explained. “And I find I like it.”

“You are very well-matched,” Giulia said admiringly, looking between them. “I don’t know why grandfather –” She cut off short as her father appeared.

“Brother,” Nicolò greeted him, retreating immediately back into that cold demeanor of the last few days. “I have just been introducing Giulia to my husband. Congratulations, by the by, on this marriage with Foix.”

“Hmph,” said Godfrey. “Speaking of husbands, and marriages. I hear you are traveling to Venice next, to look for a husband for your sister-in-law.”

“We are, that’s no secret,” Yusuf said, keeping his tone light. “Do you have any warnings to give us, about the Doge and his family? Or perhaps recommendations? We seek someone who will be willing to live in Tunis, so his eldest son is out of the question, even though I understand he is still unwed.”

“Why not Genova?” Godfrey said it aggressively. “Giulia’s brother is not yet old enough to marry, but there could be a betrothal.”

“Francesco is your heir, father,” Giulia pointed out. “He cannot move to Tunis.”

“I don’t see why that should be a barrier.”

“Because that is our custom,” Yusuf said, struggling to keep his temper now, “as my sister’s child will be my heir. They must of course be raised in our court.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have wed a man, then.”

Yusuf looked at Nicolò; Nicolò had the curl at the corner of his mouth that said he was furious, but he didn’t say anything. Giulia looked upset.

“We would not be having this conversation if I hadn’t,” he pointed out.

“Will you visit Genova, on the way to Venice?” Godfrey asked, changing tack. “Otherwise you will have to sail to Pisa; surely you do not want to do _that_.”

“We do not have time for family visits,” Nicolò said, finally opening his mouth. “Besides, brother, I would want to know that I would be permitted to leave again.”

“We’re not going to start a war with Tunis over you,” Godfrey said, very dismissively. “Not when you’re…” His lips thinned, and he glanced at his daughter. “So obviously pleased to be subject to them.”

Nicolò smiled at him, but the cold light in his eye didn’t change, and Yusuf was _very_ sure now where that odd bout of passion the other day had come from.

“As long as all of us are clear about where Nicolò prefers to be,” Yusuf said, struck by the sudden conviction that his parents would, actually, if he asked, go to war over that, and that he thought from Nicolò’s expression that maybe he knew it, and it made him glad. “Excuse us; my aunt is trying to catch my eye. Lady Giulia, I am glad to have met you.” He whisked Nicolò off before anything could go more dramatically wrong.

*

“You seem to be close to your niece,” Yusuf said, when they were meant to be sleeping. “I suppose she is more of your age than her father is.”

“Just so,” Nicolò agreed. “Bernadetta is the next youngest and she married away, and then so did Giovanna, and Otto’s children are much younger than I am, the eldest is only eleven. But Godfrey has always lived at my father’s court, as his heir, and so I know all his children very well. Francesco is a nice boy, truth be told, but even if he was not the heir, we are not giving Noor my brother for a father-in-law. It is hard enough that you have to put up with my family.”

“I have spoken to your family twice in one year,” Yusuf said. “As hardships go, it is one I can live with.”

“You nearly _died_ when Marco came to Tunis,” Nicolò muttered, gripping Yusuf’s forearm and clutching it to him. “If you will remember.”

“I have not forgotten,” Yusuf said. “And we are _not_ going to Genova, you will note.” He wrapped a leg over Nicolò’s, so they were as close as they could be. “Nicolò, you will tell me, if you are unhappy?”

“It’s just my brother,” Nicolò said. “It – bah, I know I have been in a terrible temper. I am sorry.”

“Yes,” Yusuf agreed gravely. “Stomping around the place. Yelling. Frightening the servants. It has been obvious to the entire city.”

“Yes, all of that.” Nicolò turned his head into Yusuf’s arm. “I am very glad you are here.”

Yusuf kissed the nape of his neck. “I have nowhere better to be.”

*

The morning of the day they were to leave – they sailed on the evening tide – Yusuf found Noor having an animated conversation with Sébastien and his lady wife.

“Sorry,” Sébastien said when he saw Yusuf’s face, in a way that was not at all apologetic, “but I could not let Noor leave without introducing her to Adèle. I swear we will both be silent as the grave about it.”

“If I’d dressed up in boy’s clothes and tried to join an embassy to a foreign land,” Adèle sighed, “my brother would have locked me up for the rest of the journey.”

“Yusuf is too nice for that,” Noor said. “Isn’t that right, brother?”

“I pray to God every day for the forbearance necessary to deal with you, and so far He has granted it to me,” Yusuf said. “That’s what it is.”

“I pray to God every day to grant you wisdom and good judgement, since our mother is letting you choose me a husband,” Noor said sweetly. “I am waiting to see if my prayers will be answered.”

“This is _just_ like old times in Tunis,” said Sébastien, who was nobly not laughing at them. “Adèle, we must visit, one day.”

“I would like that,” said Adèle seriously. “Sébastien, we must go and farewell my family now, but I think your party does not sail until this evening? So we will see you one last time.”

“Of course, of course,” Sébastien agreed – of course he had a wife who liked to tell him what to do, Yusuf thought privately, that was just as Sébastien would prefer it – and they went.

“She reminds me of our mother, a little,” Noor said.

“Mmm, I know what you mean,” said Yusuf. “Are you ready for Venice?”

“I hope so,” said Noor. “I am just very glad now we are going there, and not Genova. Nicolò has not enjoyed seeing his brother. He is so quiet, and so angry, even though he tries not to be.”

Yusuf hadn’t quite placed part of the emotion Nicolò had been experiencing as anger; he realised now that Noor was right. “Yes, he is. I think it will be better once we sail.”

*

They did sail to Pisa and Nicolò only made disparaging remarks once a day or so, which was a great sign of how very much he wished to avoid his family, and then travelled overland to Venice. It was summer and the mountain passes were easily crossed; they had no trouble from bandits or petty lords, either, which Nicolò had said was a possibility. He had seemed almost eager for a fight, the tension from Marseille spilling off him. It had eased the closer they got to Venice, and the further they got from Genova, even though they had not been there at all.

Yusuf tried to ask him more about his family, but he said he would prefer not to speak of it; instead he told him animatedly about all the northern cities, which were all of course inferior to his home, and how they grew the same sort of wheat here as in Tunis, and made some of the same sort of food from it. Yusuf had known all of that already, but he did not mind letting Nicolò speak on topics that soothed him.

Venice was a strange city, so flat and so close to the sea, almost part of it. Yusuf had of course been told of this, but it was still a surprise to the eye. There were other surprises awaiting them in the city, too. The first great one was when Yusuf presented himself and Nicolò and some of their party to the Doge, formally, as an embassy from his mother (though of course messages had gone before them). Some of the Doge’s family was there too, including two women of middle age, who were named to Yusuf as the Doge’s sister Maria and her wife Bernadetta.

Bernadetta looked curiously at Nicolò. “Brother. It has been a very long time. I was surprised to hear you were coming to Venice.”

“I am hardly under lock and key in Tunis,” Nicolò said. “And yes, it has been a long time.”

“It will be a family reunion, if you are still here next month,” she said. “Our father is visiting.”

“Oh, that is news,” Nicolò said, with utter dispassion. It was only very long practice that allowed Yusuf to keep his face straight.

“We have many great visitors this summer,” said the Doge himself. “Prince Stephen of England is in the city right now.” He eyed Yusuf and Nicolò. “I must say, the pair of you are not what I expected, from his description.”

“Yes, well,” Yusuf said, “we have no quarrel with him except that he was a very _incompetent_ plotter, which makes me all the more glad I did not marry him.” This was entirely untrue and one of the great regrets of Yusuf’s wedding night was that he hadn’t just run him through and claimed confusion in the middle of the fight, but one dead nobleman had probably been enough. Probably.

“Sifting through his story for what I believe may be the truth,” the Doge said, “I, personally, would have thrown him from the walls of my palace, so it is very generous that you claim to have no quarrel with him. But to ease your minds, he is passing through on the way to the Holy Land, on pilgrimage, and I do not expect you will see him.”

“Thank you,” said Nicolò. “That would be, perhaps, best for everybody.”

“We also have visitors from the east,” the Doge went on. “I believe you know the woman-king Andromache? Of Scythia?”

Yusuf could not help his grin. “Of course! An old friend of my mother’s. And her wife was one of my suitors.”

“Well, they are here for a little while,” said the Doge. “But I trust all this excitement will not prevent us from coming to a mutually beneficial agreement, on the matter of your sister’s marriage.”

“I trust so also,” Yusuf said, and so their first audience was concluded.

*

“Your _sister_?” Yusuf said to Nicolò as soon as they were – well, not alone, but in something like reasonable privacy. “Your sister married away to _Venice_ and you did not think to mention it, all this time?”

“I wasn’t sure she would be here!” Nicolò defended himself. “Maria rules Zara, for the Doge. I think they are there most of the time. And I am sure I _did_ tell you, at least once, but apparently you did not listen.”

Yusuf rubbed his temples. “Does my mother know?”

“Yusuf,” Nicolò said blankly, “the very first thing your mother did, the day after we married, was make me sit down and draw out a family tree, with notes on who they had all married, and who _those_ people were related to. Well, she had your father supervise it, but it was her request. He got me to remember relatives I had entirely forgotten I had. I am certain she considered this, when she settled on Venice for Noor.”

“I’ve never seen this family tree,” Yusuf said, aware that he sounded sulky and very annoyed about it.

“You didn’t really ask,” Nicolò said. He got a mutinous light in his eye, all of a sudden. “You just complained that I had too many brothers and sisters to remember, which is hardly my fault.”

“No, it is not,” Yusuf said, very diplomatically, because there really were too many of them to remember but probably he should have tried harder.

Nicolò drew himself up. “There is nothing else, you may have my word on it. Except that unless we hurry my father will arrive.”

“How motivated should I be by that to conclude these negotiations?” Yusuf asked him.

“Very,” Nicolò said, still standing straight, but somehow now with a hunted air. “If you would be so obliging.”

“I will see what I can do,” Yusuf promised him.

*

He set the entire party to learning what they could about all of the Doge’s eligible male relatives, so that he could come to the negotiations well-informed on that front. He thought it best if Noor was not _too_ visible about the palace during all this, as there was every chance she would one day visit under her true title and as a woman, but in this he was helped by Andromache’s presence in the city. She looked as she always had as long as Yusuf remembered knowing her, somehow eternal; Princess Quỳnh, relieved of her robes and makeup, looked quite different. She seemed perfectly at ease with Andromache, however, so Yusuf could be pleased at how that had turned out. 

“They took me down to the docks,” Noor told him gleefully, “and I tried _ale_. It was disgusting. Princess Quỳnh showed me a whole lot of new things I can do with my good knife, the one I bought at the market that day with you, remember? I will have to practice.”

“I am so glad your education is continuing, even though we are traveling,” Yusuf said.

“They told me about all the candidates for my hand, too,” Noor said. “How many of them have you met so far?”

“None yet, to speak of,” Yusuf said. “We are negotiating on the topics of trade agreements, and military aid, and Byzantium, and what might be done about the Normans in Sicily. Such specifics as which man we will take home with us are not yet on the table.” He patted Noor on the shoulder. “But, as I understand it, principally from our aunt who has been speaking with the Doge’s wife, the most likely two candidates are his younger brother Otto and his second-youngest son Pietro.”

“Otto is _old_ ,” said Noor. “Isn’t he? Andromache said he was a widower.”

“He is thirty or thereabouts, I think,” Yusuf said. “Not an elderly man. And his first wife died in childbirth, so he can father children. It matters, in this case.”

“What about the son?”

“I haven’t even seen him. But Nicolò reports that his sister says he is a perfectly normal boy. Nobody seems to have much to say of him for good or for ill.”

Noor narrowed her eyes. “Alright.”

“It will be very awkward,” Yusuf said, pointedly, “if your husband meets you in this guise and then again in Tunis.”

“I will consider that,” Noor said, which meant she would do nothing of the sort.

*

Yusuf did his best to ensure the negotiations went quickly, but they were stuck on several points regarding port fees and competition along trade routes, and the question of which Venetian his sister would be taking back to Tunis had still not even come up. As always with these things, at least as much time was spent at banquets and other light entertainments as it was in the negotiating room. Several of the Venetians seemed very confused by Nicolò’s presence and tended to forget whose side he was there to represent; it was rather helpful, actually. Noor managed to talk her way into serving food one afternoon. Yusuf could not look directly at her the entire time she was there.

Yusuf was invited to eat, one evening, with Nicolò’s sister and her wife. Nicolò was not.

“We’ve had time to speak,” Nicolò said, clearly less concerned about this than he had been about his brother, in Marseille. “I expect she wishes to see what sort of man you are when I am not around.”

Yusuf wasn’t any clearer on that point after the meal; most of the questions Bernadetta had asked him had not made much sense. Maria had taken the opportunity to advocate her brother’s part on the question of the port fees, which was exactly what he had expected; she was his right hand on the coast of Dalmatia, after all.

“The question I could not answer,” he told Nicolò afterwards, “was when she wanted to know what sort of marriage we had, and I said it was very happy, thank you, and her wife pretended she wasn’t laughing, and it clearly wasn’t at all what she had meant. But she did not say it more clearly.”

Nicolò laughed at that. Yusuf poked him. “That isn’t helpful.”

“I am sorry,” Nicolò said. “What she meant to ask is…you know that the church teaches that it is better to be celibate, yes? Except in the matter of children. So when men marry men, or women marry women, we are told that the best kind of marriage of that sort is one that is unconcerned with….” He gestured between himself and Yusuf; they were both naked, and had spent a very pleasant hour prior to this in a highly uncelibate manner.

“And your sister wished to know this because…”

Nicolò shrugged. “My mother said once – although she is not Bernadetta’s mother and I do not know how well they really know each other – that she thought Bernadetta would have gone to a nunnery, if she had had a choice; I think she was not interested in marriage at all. Marriage to a woman suited her, because there would be no question, at least not in this case as far as I know, of children, or getting them. Perhaps she wondered if it was the same with me. Since I went to the monastery, before Tunis.”

“I thought you said the monastery was surprisingly lacking in celibacy.”

“Well, and I expect many nunneries are the same, but the point is you are not _required_ to, ah, lack celibacy. Rather the opposite.”

“I apologise,” Yusuf said solemnly, “for tearing you away from your preferred life of devotion. And entirely voluntary celibacy.”

“I see you need another demonstration of my preferences in this,” Nicolò said, with a smirk, and proceeded to hold Yusuf down and give him just that, by way of his mouth on Yusuf’s cock; as demonstrations went it was hardly necessary, but Yusuf was not going to interrupt.

*

The summer days bled slowly one into the other, and they finally came to an agreement on the matter of the port fees. Which left the last and most important question: who Noor would marry. The Doge made his preference clear upfront – his brother Otto.

“He’s a steady man,” he said, “good for a young girl. You can ask around, you won’t hear anything badly spoken of him.”

“I would prefer to speak _to_ him,” Yusuf said, politely, and it was arranged. He made sure his aunt was present as well, and the most senior of the advisors his mother sent with him. Otto seemed pleasant enough, but he was a little older than Yusuf had thought – closer to their parents’ age than thirty – and he spoke a great deal of how much he thought the princess would like Venice.

“But you would not be living in Venice,” Yusuf pointed out. “You would be living in Tunis.”

“At first, yes,” Otto countered. “But once you have an heir, and of course they would stay at your court, I see no reason we could not return here.”

“Tunis is a very fine city,” Nicolò said. “Of course it is not Córdoba or Constantinople, but I think you would have nothing to complain of. I am delighted by it, constantly.”

“Compared to Genova, I am sure it is very fine,” Otto said amiably. He and Nicolò eyed each other with clear distaste. So that was going well.

“Do you have any Arabic?” Yusuf asked, changing the subject.

“No, not really,”Otto said. “But your party all speak such good Latin; I am sure it would be no problem.” Even the Doge frowned a little at that.

“I would like to speak with your son as well,” Yusuf said to him after. “If you are not ruling out that match completely.”

“I…no,” said the Doge. “He is still young, though; you will excuse anything thoughtless he says.”

“Of course.”

Pietro, the Doge’s second-youngest son, was sixteen; three years younger than Noor. He greeted Yusuf, Nicolò, and all the rest of their party in very careful darija _,_ rather than the Arabic of Egypt. Yusuf was – not immediately charmed, but willing to be impressed. Nicolò gave the boy a pleased smile.

“And on you also peace, Pietro son of Domenico,” he said. “Have you been learning from Sicilians, then?”

“I have been speaking with one of the servants in your party, Lady Fatima’s serving boy,” Pietro said, switching back to Latin. “I wanted to learn about Tunis, and the princess.”

Yusuf knew _exactly_ which servant Pietro must have been speaking to. It was all he could do not to sigh. “Has he told you much of her? I don’t believe they have met. He serves in my aunt’s household.”

“No, he says he has only ever seen her from afar,” said Pietro, “but he has told me much of your city, and what a fine ruler your queen is. It sounds very different from Venice. I think I would like to see it.”

“My mother is an excellent ruler, there is no doubt about it,” Yusuf said. “Perhaps you could tell me what it is you most wish to see there.”

Truth be told, Pietro didn’t have a great deal to distinguish him from any of the other Frankish boys of his age Yusuf had met, but he did not embarrass himself and clearly knew he was not his father’s preferred candidate, which spoke well of his understanding. Nicolò asked him several questions about his education which Yusuf did not entirely follow, as many of the topics studied here were different, but the way Nicolò received the answers told him that they were acceptable. He emphasized several times his willingness to learn Arabic, and whatever else was necessary for life in Tunis.

They were interrupted an hour into the discussion by one of the Doge’s servants, who came and murmured something to him. The Doge sat up and clapped his hands. “Well; I am afraid we must end this for the moment. I am informed the Comte di Genova has arrived early. His travel must have been swifter than we expected.”

Nicolò was absolutely still, in the manner Yusuf was familiar with from hunting, or that wedding night when they had sat on the roof and heard men plotting to murder them.

“Perhaps you would wish to go and greet your father,” the Doge said to Nicolò.

“Perhaps,” Nicolò said, and did not say anything else.

“It has been pleasant speaking with you,” Yusuf said to Pietro. “We will speak again, if your father wills it.”

Pietro nodded, nervously, and farewelled Yusuf, once again in Arabic.

The Doge sighed, as soon as he had left the room. “You want him for your sister, don’t you.”

“He has made an effort,” said Yusuf. “She will appreciate it.” He threw honesty to the wind; Noor would never know, and probably forgive him. “Besides which, she is a very shy girl, unused to male company, and I think an older man would frighten her. A boy her own age she will warm to much more quickly.”

“Hmmm,” the Doge said. “I will consider it overnight.”

“We really should go and greet my father,” Nicolò said, rising. He was perfectly calm. It was unsettling. “You do not have to come with me, husband –”

“I think I do,” Yusuf said firmly, and followed him out.

*

Nicolò’s father looked unsettlingly like him, only forty years older, darker of eye and perhaps once of hair – it was all grey now – and with the sort of demeanor that only came over Nicolò when he was very upset or angry, the way he had been when Keane and Stephen had tried to murder them, or in Marseille. Yusuf got the sense that the Comte was like this all the time. It seemed like a miserable way to exist, although even more miserable for everybody around him. He greeted Nicolò without excitement, or any obvious affection.

“I was told you would be here,” he said. “You’ve grown out your beard, I see.”

“Yes, Father,” Nicolò said.

“And you’re the Prince of Tunis,” his father said, turning to Yusuf. “I can’t imagine your father was very happy with what you did with your Great Feast.”

“I am sure you know as well as I that an alliance with Genova was not my _mother_ ’s greatest wish,” Yusuf said, “but Nicolò could charm anybody, and I think she is pleased enough with it now.”

“ _Could_ he?” the Comte said, supremely unconvinced. “A dead duke and an alliance nobody wanted; no amount of charm makes up for that, and I’ve never noticed he’s had any.”

Yusuf contemplated the personal and political consequences of punching his father-in-law in the face. Regrettably, they were too high to risk, today. Perhaps another day would alter the balance. He could only hope.

“I think Tunis suits him,” Yusuf said instead.

“The beard doesn’t, he looked better as a monk,” said the Comte, and departed without another word to his son.

“You did _not_ look better as a monk,” Yusuf told Nicolò in Arabic, “and I beg you, do not shave; I like you as you are.”

Nicolò was rubbing his chin. “I was not considering it. Well, you have met my father, now. Was he what you expected?”

“No,” Yusuf said. “He was considerably worse.”

“Then you did not take due warning from my brothers,” Nicolò said, still calm; Yusuf did not like that at all.

*

It got worse the next day, before Yusuf was due to meet with the Doge and settle the question: Otto or Pietro. He had managed to pull Noor aside and ask her what her feelings were.

“I know you have been speaking to Pietro,” he said. “So tell me truly.”

“I can’t judge between them,” Noor said frankly, “since I have never spoken to Otto; I tried, but he does not notice servants, truly he does not. He has not spoken to our aunt, either, and he could have. Pietro came and spoke to _me_ , and begged me to teach him some words of Arabic. It was difficult, because my Latin is not nearly as good as yours, but we managed. Yusuf, if I have a choice, I would rather have a husband who _tries_ than one who does not notice servants, or women.”

“I will do my best for you,” Yusuf said. “I got a deal everybody is equally unhappy with on the port fees, so I think our mother will be pleased with that, and grant us leeway on the man.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Noor said, and hugged him very hard, so Yusuf knew she was not as indifferent to it as she was trying to seem.

He kissed the top of her head. “Love, I am not going to let you be unhappy, you know this. I will have to live in the same palace as your husband as well. And I think daily of all your new tricks with knives.”

“I know,” Noor said, “but it is very hard, not having a choice like you did.”

“I know,” Yusuf said, and hugged her a little longer.

They were to speak with the Doge in the afternoon. He went to find Nicolò, and found that Nicolò’s father had got there first, and was reading him a fine lecture about – Prince Stephen, of all things. He was apparently still in the city; there had been a delay in his voyage. Yusuf had managed to avoid him, and suspected that what was actually happening was that Stephen was assiduously avoiding _them_. It would be the first piece of wisdom he had ever shown.

“You didn’t have any qualms about cutting down his men, unprovoked,” the Comte was saying, “so why you balked at following your brother’s perfectly simple instructions –”

“Excuse me,” Yusuf said. “If we are discussing Prince Stephen’s actions on our wedding night, there was a _great_ amount of provocation, starting – which is more than enough – with seven armed men entering my quarters, and Duke Keane expressing that he meant to do us harm. We were unarmed. Stephen should be grateful that he isn’t dead.”

“If you were unarmed,” the Comte said, “how are you still alive?”

“Because we had the element of surprise, and because Nicolò is _very_ good with a sword.” Yusuf smiled with all his teeth. “And so am I.” He let the smile drop. “You will excuse us; we are to speak with the Doge shortly. We are at the point of finalizing our negotiations for my sister’s betrothal.”

“I am speaking with my son,” said the Comte. Yusuf looked at Nicolò, who had said nothing, all this time. He was staring fixedly at the wall.

“You will excuse us,” Yusuf said again, very clearly. He could not catch Nicolò’s gaze.

“Perhaps I should join you,” the Comte said, like it had just occurred to him. “You’ve probably let the Venetians take you for much more than your sister’s hand is worth.”

“No,” Yusuf said, short and to the point, and gave up; he grabbed Nicolò’s elbow and towed him out of the room. For a second Nicolò did not move, and a wave of ice went down Yusuf’s spine. Then he did.

“This way,” he said, when Nicolò tried to walk in the direction that took them to the Doge’s private audience chamber. “We have a little time. Nicolò, what was –” Nicolò still hadn’t said anything, he realised, and changed tack. “Nicolò, are you well?”

“As well as I ever am around my father, these days,” Nicolò said, and finally, _finally_ met Yusuf’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“What happened?”

Nicolò let out a short, shaky laugh. “I forgot that I spent my entire childhood being trained to do what he said, and it turns out that is very difficult to shake.”

“I could see that,” Yusuf said, as gently as he knew how, taking Nicolò by the shoulders. They were in one of the palace gardens; he could not see anybody right now. They could not be sure of being alone, but they were not in company – not even that of servants. “Nicolò, that’s not what I meant. What happened on that campaign, that Godfrey told you to do and your father thinks you should have done, that sent you to a monastery instead?”

“Ah,” Nicolò said. “That.” He looked at Yusuf with a small, sardonic smile, but he was not looking _at_ Yusuf; he was seeing something else. “It isn’t very…there were some raids on territory under Genoa’s protection, from men sworn to Pisa. My father sent us to put an end to it. That wasn’t so bad, or so hard. But then Godfrey said that we were going to send a message that anything of that sort would not be tolerated. We took the castle of the lord who was behind it, or at least tolerating it. He was not there. His children were. The sons took up arms; they were ten or twelve, maybe. Not trained yet. They surrendered, or rather the castellan did for them, and Godfrey told me to take their heads. As a message, you understand.”

Yusuf had to listen very carefully to this, because Nicolò had lapsed into Ligurian, and his accent had got very strong. “And…you would not.”

“They were children,” Nicolò said, in the quiet manner of his worst fury. “No. I would not. But Marco would. And when we returned to Genova –” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “My father said that it was Godfrey’s fault for trying to make me do such a thing on my first real campaign, and when I had a few years more behind me, I would not think so much of it. And if I broke I think it was then; when I realised that it was not even that my father expected I would do it without thinking. It was when I realised he expected I would become someone who would, eventually, if I carried a sword for him and one day for Godfrey. That was what I couldn’t do.”

“Nicolò,” Yusuf said, quietly, and took his face in his hands. He wanted to embrace him, but he didn’t think Nicolò would appreciate it, right here and now. “You didn’t break. The opposite of that.”

“I know you think so,” Nicolò said, turning to kiss his palm, “and I know your mother would never ask such a thing of you, nor expect it. So, beloved, do not think I tire of you, but know this: if you did decide to divorce me, I would go on my knees to your mother to beg to be allowed to stay in Tunis all the same.”

“I am not going to divorce you,” Yusuf said at once. “But, I am sorry, I do need you to come and help me get Noor the husband she wants.”

“What do you think he’s going to say when he finds out who she is?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Yusuf said, groaning, “but it’s going to have to be before we return, and I don’t think she knows that yet.”

“Well,” Nicolò said, deliberately shaking off his mood like a coat, “with that to look forward to, how can I dwell on the past?” He reached up and took Yusuf’s hands. “Don’t look at me like that. It will be well. Let’s do what we came here to do.”

*

It was simple enough, in the end; the Doge said he had thought on it and that they could have Pietro, after all. “I don’t have any other plans for him, and the boy is terribly excited by the idea. Would you want him in Tunis now, or the betrothal contract only?”

“Why not now?” Yusuf said. “He needs to learn Arabic before the wedding.”

The Doge agreed, and it was done. They signed the betrothal contract that same afternoon. Noor, when Yusuf showed it to her, clapped her hands in delight and then read the whole thing top to bottom.

“I can’t _believe_ ,” she said at one point, “you let these port fees stand –”

“Look at what we’re still charging them,” Yusuf said. “I promise, nobody is happy, which means it’s probably fair.”

“Hmmm,” said Noor and his aunt at the same time, and then everybody took their turn at reading it. Yusuf gave strict instructions about keeping their copies safe, and then slipped away to Nicolò, who had gone to lie down, which was a polite way of saying, to be absolutely sure he would not run into his father again.

“We can leave as soon as tomorrow,” Yusuf said, sitting down beside him.

“Thanks be to God,” Nicolò said, fervently. “I never want to be in the same city as my father ever again.”

“I don’t want to be in the same city as your father ever again,” Yusuf said. “He’s not a pleasant man.” He leaned back against the wall, and snorted. “And he underestimates you, and what you are capable of. Imagine thinking that the best use you could be to anybody was obediently murdering children.”

“He assesses everybody for…how useful they will be to him,” Nicolò said, sitting up next to Yusuf, “and then expects them to be used.”

“It is a habit of rulers, I think,” Yusuf said. “My mother does likewise. But he has you wrong.”

Nicolò shook his head. “No. No, it is not at all the same. My father is like –” He made an impatient gesture, and said something very rapidly in Ligurian, too quick and colloquial for Yusuf to follow, before switching back to Arabic. “Sorry; I am losing the right words. My father uses people like…tools, like a carpenter, and your mother uses people like…words, like a poet. It is different.”

Yusuf gave this some thought, given what he knew of both of them. “I don’t think it is like tools. Your father, I think, uses people like – you know the Persian game, shatranj, that you and my father and Noor all like to play? Like that. Each piece has its rules, and it cannot move any other way. Your father decides what piece he wants you to be, and when you do not move that way, it upsets him. My mother uses people like…like a woman crafting a mosaic. She knows the scene she wants to depict, and she considers how each piece can fit into it. But she places them based on what they are, not what she would like them to be. And if it turns out she does not have the pieces in hand she would wish, well, she alters the scene to fit her tiles.”

Nicolò gave him such a smile, half-wondering, half-proud, that it warmed Yusuf from head to toe. “Yes, that it is it, exactly. But no, it is a little like tools with my father, still. I did not move as he wanted, and he decided I was broken, and therefore had no more use; that was why I was allowed to go to the monastery. And now it turns out that I was never broken, but am whole and in someone else’s hand, and he hates it.”

“No, it is still shatranj,” Yusuf said. “You crossed the board and became something else.”

“When you are king, Yusuf,” Nicolò said very seriously, “promise me you will not use people as pieces. Be more like your mother.”

“You know I can’t stand shatranj,” Yusuf said, laughing. “Its players tend to think that all problems can be made into questions of geometry.” He sobered. “But no. I promise. And speaking of the day I am king…Nicolò, we must speak about what…how it has been, with your family, this whole trip. As you say, one day I am going to be king, and I need to know that I can rely on you without question.”

He took a deep breath. “I know this is a matter of your family, and how you feel about them, and I know there is great grief there for you, but we are who we are. Matters of our families _are_ matters of state. I need you to tell me the things I do _not_ know I need to ask you. I need to know when I will need to have your back, to keep you out of a room like that, if that is what you need, for your sake and for the sake of who we are. And if you are there, I need you to have my back, in such a room, no matter who is standing on the other side of it.” He paused. “Unless my mother tells you otherwise, but if you are going to conspire with her against me, I would beg that you only do it under _extreme_ provocation.”

Nicolò got off the bed and knelt in front of him, abrupt and graceful, and took Yusuf’s hands, arranging them so that his own were clasped between them. “You need to know you can rely on me? You may have any oath you like.” He leant his forehead against their joined hands. Yusuf’s heart stopped. “But I do not think this is about kingdoms or matters of state, in truth.”

“Very well,” said Yusuf. “Perhaps it is not. I need us to be there for each other in everything, because…” He licked his lips. “I love you. Losing you would be like losing my good right arm. You make my days joyous and my nights beautiful. I would ask you to marry me if that wasn’t a completely inadequate expression of how I feel for you.”

“You already asked me to marry you,” said Nicolò, “and – it seems your memory is going, and at such a young age – we have been wed for nearly a year.”

“Yes, but that was politics,” said Yusuf. “This is romance.”

“Romantic love isn’t for marriage, my heart,” said Nicolò, rising to his feet, finally. “It’s for impossible loves that cannot be.”

“You’re making this very difficult,” said Yusuf, not letting go of his hands. “Why?”

“Impossible, even,” said Nicolò, his voice as warm as the summer sea, and kissed Yusuf gently, not at all the way he had kissed him on their wedding night. That had been all eagerness and flesh; this was fragile but strong, like the silk of a spider’s web.

“You’re not impossible,” Nicolò breathed into his ear, when the kiss broke. “You are every possibility I didn’t know I wanted. There is nowhere else I want to be but by your side. Do not ever think otherwise.”

“I will try to live up to that, beloved,” Yusuf said. “It is a great deal to be.”

“I have every faith in you,” Nicolò said firmly, in the tone that meant he expected Yusuf to do as he was asked, please. So what was he going to do but obey?

*

Yusuf told everybody in their party _very_ firmly that Nicolò was not speaking to his father, and they all worked to make sure it did not happen. They could not leave the next day, now Pietro was traveling with them, but by the end of the week, it would be possible, the Doge said. In the meantime, he was sure they would be very busy with preparations, and would not expect them to dine in state, or see much of anybody at the palace. Yusuf said yes, that was very true, and inwardly was relieved at the Doge’s diplomacy. Nicolò’s father did not push, or try and see them off. Nicolò’s sister and her wife did, which pleased Yusuf, and did not seem to displease Nicolò. They left Venice on a dawn tide, and Yusuf was infinitely relieved to be headed home at last.

*

Two days down the coast, Yusuf pulled Noor aside and explained that, since they were on their way back to Tunis, it was time to unburden herself of her secret to Pietro.

“I thought I could do it once we were home,” Noor said, rubbing her foot back and forth on the deck. “Surely that is soon enough?”

“Noor,” said Yusuf, “he is going to be introduced to you, under supervision, as a princess and as his future wife, and he needs to _not_ exclaim with surprise just how much you look like his great friend, Noor the serving boy, who he has not seen since we landed in Tunis. The simplest way to do that is to tell him the truth now.”

“But then other people on the ship might…”

Yusuf sighed. “Noor, most of them know already; or at least that you are a young woman.”

“What if he doesn’t like it,” Noor said, going very red. “Or me.”

“Do you think he won’t?”

“I think we’re friends, or at least friendly. Except – he’s friends with me now, you understand? What if…he doesn’t want to be friends with…me, the princess?”

“You don’t want to be a princess anymore?” Yusuf raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think our mother is going to like that.”

“No,” said Noor. “Not exactly. I don’t mind – I enjoyed…being able to do other things and be someone else, for a time. And I enjoyed – this is going to sound very odd – not pretending to be a boy. Exactly. But not being seen as a woman. I do not know.”

“I do not know what to say to that either,” Yusuf admitted. “But if Pietro is a good person, you can tell him these things, and he will listen. First, though, he has to know the truth.”

“When did you get all this wisdom?” Noor said, folding her arms.

“All your prayers are having an effect,” Yusuf told her. “Thanks be to God.”

Noor made a face at him, and then went, Yusuf hoped, to find her betrothed. It was hard to stay much out of their way on the ship, but he did his best. Pietro came and found him not very long afterwards, saying hesitantly “It isn’t that I don’t believe him. Her. But is Noor really –”

“Yes,” Yusuf said. “Which I will ask you to forget as soon as we arrive in Tunis, where my sister has been all this time, waiting for me to bring her home a husband.”

“I understand,” Pietro said. “And I promise, I have always been respectful.”

“We’d know if you hadn’t been,” Yusuf said cheerfully. “You would have caught a fatal case of a stabbing, probably.” He bit his lip at Pietro’s immediate horror. “Well, no, my sister is kinder than that. But she is very forthright. I am sure you know that already.”

“I do,” Pietro said. “I admired that about…the boy I thought I knew. I think I will admire it about her now.”

“You should,” Yusuf said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Just treat her exactly the same as you have been, yes? She will like that best.”

“Poor boy,” Nicolò said, in Arabic, coming up to him after Pietro had gone. “I think he is very confused right now.”

“That’s on Noor’s head,” Yusuf said, a little brutally. “She will have to deal with it. Still, there’s some promise there; I can imagine them learning to love each other. Or at least deal well together, which is sometimes all you can ask for.” He grinned. “We did it, Nicolò! We went to Venice and found her a husband and nothing has gone wrong. Very wrong. We should be pleased with ourselves.”

“I am pleased with us,” Nicolò said, leaning on the railing. “But speaking of dealing well. Did you know your mother told me, a few days after our wedding, that you were probably going to fall in love with me?” 

“She did _what_ ,” said Yusuf.

“And that it was my business how I felt about it,” he went on, “but since I had agreed to marry you, she expected me to be kind.”

Yusuf briefly contemplated throwing himself in the sea, but he could imagine what would happen next, and it did not involve a quick end to his suffering. “Of course she said that.”

“She loves you very much.” Nicolò smiled; not wistfully, but like he was looking upon some small but beautiful thing. A perfect piece of fruit, or a blossoming tree. “You are very lucky.”

“I know,” said Yusuf, but of course he hadn’t. When you grew up with love as fierce and steady and all-embracing as his parents’ for their children, you didn’t question it, you didn’t even notice it, really; it was the way the world was. It was only in Venice, watching Nicolò and his father, that it had become truly visible to him. “Has it been difficult?”

“Being married to you?”

“Being kind.”

Nicolò narrowed his eyes, and said “I know what you’re trying to do, and it isn’t going to work.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yusuf said, with dignity.

“I’m not like you. I can’t just spout poetry on demand.”

“I don’t _spout_ it,” said Yusuf.

“But since you ask,” said Nicolò, who had brought up the topic himself and had no right to accuse Yusuf of doing so, “loving you is the easiest thing I have ever done.”

It was entirely unpoetic and the best thing anybody had said to Yusuf, ever, and he kissed Nicolò right there in front of the crew and his sister and the entire Roman Sea, and they could all go jump in the sea for all he cared right then.

“Am I going to want to do that?” Noor asked him later. “Just…kiss Pietro in front of everybody.”

“I don’t know,” said Yusuf. “Our parents don’t. That’s up to you and Pietro.”

“I haven’t decided,” said Noor. Then she squinted at something past Yusuf’s shoulder. “That ship is moving very fast.”

Fending off pirates wasn’t _precisely_ what Yusuf had wanted on the way back to Tunis. But Nicolò seemed to have a very good time, evidently having a lot of anger to work through, and Noor got to stab somebody after all, and there was one less ship of pirates around, and also they had been Normans which made it practically an act of charity, so really: it could have gone a lot worse.

“My son,” said his mother, when he conveyed this upon their arrival, “I don’t know what I did wrong that you think this, but you are all safe and well, so I shall let it pass. Do you like this boy for Noor? Not just the agreement on port fees he brings with him, I mean. Well done on that, and on your work on the tin trade. I shall have to send you and Nicolò out more often.”

“Thank you,” Yusuf said, beaming at the carefully meted-out praise; when his mother said things like that, she truly meant them. “And yes, I do like him for Noor. But perhaps do not frighten him off by going around informing him about when she is going to fall in love with him just yet.”

“Nicolò mentioned that to you, I take it.”

“He might have.”

“Well,” his mother said, “you _were_ going to, and you did, so I think he was well forewarned.”

“Mmmm,” Yusuf said. “Are you still annoyed that I picked the one man you had strictly forbidden me to consider?”

“If I’d spotted him before the feast started,” his mother said darkly, “I would have had him quietly dragged out, and saved us all a lot of trouble. But no. I am not annoyed any longer. If you divorce him, I’m going to keep him and put him to work. So keep that in mind.”

“There is not the _slightest_ chance –”

“Yes,” his mother said very kindly, taking him by the head and kissing him on the forehead, “because you were always going to fall in love with him, after that ridiculous wedding night, and you did, and I am glad for you.”

“You should be glad for him, too,” Yusuf said. “His father is…I did not like him.”

“Strong words, from you.”

“Deserved.” Yusuf hugged his mother. “I am, as always, amazed at the luck I had to be born your son.”

“So you should be,” his mother said, and sent him on his way.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Known By Its Absence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607942) by [greedy_dancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer)




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